


A (Not So) Venemous Glare

by Pocket_Full_Of_Rosies



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Barista Eren, Cop Kenny, Grisha for Prez, Kintergarten Teacher Levi, M/M, eren is an idiot, he really is an idiot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 04:36:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13139196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pocket_Full_Of_Rosies/pseuds/Pocket_Full_Of_Rosies
Summary: Grisha runs for President. Eren takes out a restraining order against a psycho-killing stalker. Levi is awkward. Kenny shouldn’t give love advice. Like ever.“Plow his ass!”





	A (Not So) Venemous Glare

**Author's Note:**

> Finished just in time for Levi's birthday! Happy birthday to our favorite shorty <3  
> Merry Christmas to everyone who's celebrating, and hope everyone enjoys this!

Eren was going to die. 

No, that isn’t to say that he smashed another one of his mother’s china plates and that she was going to ‘kill him’ by making him mow the lawn. 

He was going to die, as in his body would be found the next morning, gutted in an alleyway. There would be a mob of reporters and curious citizens alike taking pictures of the crime scene while his horrible student photo (with that _one_ strand of hair that just _had_ to stand like some preteen’s morning wood) would be splashed across every newspaper across the nation, captioned: PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATE’S SON FOUND MURDERED. 

He tapped his foot as he fidgeted, flinching at every ring of a phone, every raised voice. And boy was there a lot of those. He was sitting in the waiting room of the Trost District Police Station, in a heated-staring contest with some junkie with two-toned hair and a long face when he heard his name called.

“Eren?” Petra Ral was a friendly junior detective. She and Eren met when lackeys from the Founding Titan Party thought it would be funny to string Eren up and hang him upside down from a tree at the university. “Detective Ackerman will see you now.”

“The horses…shall rise again. I will lead their rebellion…lead them to freedom!” The junkie murmured as Eren stood to follow Petra. 

“Good luck, neigh, neigh.” He gave the guy a thumbs-up. 

Petra gestured him into a grey interview-room, where a tall, gruff-looking man wearing a black bowler hat was leaning his elbows on the table, a smoking cigarette hanging from his mouth. Eren sat down hesitantly, wondering why the detective hasn’t yet greeted him; perhaps Eren should introduce himself first? Then he heard the snores, saw the drool pooling down on a file of papers — with his name on it — and how the man seemed to be swaying slightly. Not knowing what to do, he looked to Petra for help. 

“Detective Ackerman?” She said softly but firmly. The man made a non-confirmative noise. Tsk-ing, Petra wandered over, grimacing at the soiled papers. She picked up the file and proceeded to violently whack the man on the head. “Wake up Kenny!” She yelled. 

The man yelped, the cigarette falling out of his mouth. “Whaa – who…who took my cocaine?” The man fumbled about as he reigned in his surroundings. He squinted at Eren, then at a disapproving Petra. 

“Eren, this is Detective Kenny Ackerman who was _definitely_ joking about that cocaine and _will_ act professionally and most importantly, _like a fucking adult_ from now on.” Kenny winced and recoiled under the small woman’s heated glare before she smiled sweetly at Eren. “I’ll see you around, Eren. Don’t get in too much trouble; it won’t help your dad’s campaign.”

“Campaign?” Kenny asked. 

“Yeah…see you around, Petra,” Eren said with a sinking stomach as he looked at the detective who was busy searching the ground for his cigarette. He tried to reign in his disgust when Detective Ackerman stuck the cigarette back in his mouth. 

“So, uh, do I read you your whatcha-ma-call-it rights? Right, right, um…wait — I think I remember what I’m supposed to say!” Detective Ackerman cleared his throat as he took out his handcuffs. “You have the right to shut up cuz some sleazebag lawyer’s gonna shove your words up your ass in court and your fresh-outta’ law school public defender can’t do shit about it. Yeah, that sums it up. Any questions before I cuff ya?”

“Wait, no!” Eren shouted, hands up in protest as Detective Ackerman neared with the cuffs. He was rather horrified with how unprincipled this guy was — were his tax dollars really going towards this level of service? “I didn’t do anything wrong! I’m not a criminal! Petra said that you were gonna _help me._ Not lock me up!” He really didn’t want to think about the field day the press (and Grisha’s temper) would have should he get arrested. 

“Huh, really.” The detective looked disappointed. He looked at the files, squinting and tilting the paper to decipher the drool-smudged words. “Yup, you’re right. You’re a good boy. What’s your name? Sorry boy, can’t read this shit. I’ve got saliva of steel.” He guffawed at his own lame joke. 

Eren sighed. “Eren Jaëger.”

Detective Ackerman perked in interest. “Jaëger? As in Grisha Jaëger?” Eren groaned. “Holy fucking shit, are you Grisha Jaëger’s son?”

“Yup.”

Detective Ackerman smirked hazily. “He’s the guy who wants to plug up the wall, huh?”

Eren groaned. “Can we please not talk about my dad? I actually need help from the police!” 

Detective Ackerman held his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright, boy, your call. What can I do for ya that will let me leave this goddamn place before four?” He frowned at Eren’s incredulous look. “What? Can’t cops have a life? I’ve got a poker game to go to tonight!” 

Eren was rather tempted to go back to Petra’s desk and politely ask for a different officer to be assigned to his case. But considering how many druggies and hookers there were in the waiting room, all other (respectable) officers might be occupied and Eren has a deadline to get help by. 

So he settled for Kenny Ackerman. 

“I want to take out a restraining order against a stalker.” He said. 

Detective Ackerman nodded, and jotted down some chicken scrawls. 

“You’ve got a name, address, description of what this guy’s ugly mug looks like?”

“No to the name and address. But I can do better than just a description.” Eren said as he took out his phone, unlocked it, and opened up his camera roll. “I took his picture. I think he might be an assassin hired to kill me from the Founding Titan Party. They’ve had it out for me since my dad announced his candidacy for President. Oh, and he’s like, short, _very short._ 5’2, 5’3, maybe?” He held up the picture for the detective. 

The older man stared at the picture of the suspect. His mouth dropped open and when he inhaled, the small cigarette butt tumbled in. His eyes popped as he clutched at his throat and made choking sounds. Eren jumped to his feet and clapped him on his back, until he spat out the cigarette. 

Eyes-watering, Detective Ackerman coughed and wheezed as he held Eren’s phone closer, muttering beneath his breath. He turned his watering eyes onto Eren. “B-boy…ya…yer name’s Eren? _That Eren?_ ”

“Which Eren?” He snapped, annoyed. “Yes, my name’s Eren.As Petra said. As I just said.As _those files say,_ if you bothered to read them.” He glared at the older man. 

The detective murmured a string a of words beneath his breath. Eren caught a few ‘shits’ followed by ‘what a mess’ and ‘shorty’s gonna kill me’. Then a weird expression appeared on his face. It was a cross of disbelief, nervousness, and God dammit, was that _mirth?_

The son-of –a-bitch detective was laughing at Eren. 

Detective Ackerman clicked his pen and cleared his throat. “Doesn’t the President-wannabe’s security team take care of shit like this, or does that suit-with-guns treatment not extend to the fruit of his loins?” 

He noticed the rigidness in the youth’s posture, hands curled into fists, sea-green eyes darkening into cursed jewels on a mummy’s sarcophagus. Yikes, the kid had a temper. 

“Okay, okay, _Eren._ Please do tell your tale. For the President-wannabe’s son, I’ll even risk missing my poker game to hear ya out.” 

Realizing he wasn’t going to get service any better than this, Eren sighed and launched into his story. 

* * *

He first met the man with the smoky gun-metal eyes in a dark alleyway behind the venue where Grisha was hosting a rally.

Eren was dragging his feet, not wanting to return to that crowded stadium filled to the brim with supporters of the Wall Religion Party. 

Mr. Grey-Eyes was dragging a body. 

_Oh God, Oh God…Oh Maria, Rose, and Sina!_ Eren had thought as he stood rooted to the spot. 

Mr. Grey-Eyes was short, extremely so, yet he loomed over the cowering young man, his pale skin nearly glowing in the dim alley like some kind of phantom. Eren could almost believe he was a ghost: those grey eyes had a deadened, hallow look to them, as though they had seen something from across the River Styx. And because Eren was a testosterone-driven young adult, despite the life-or-death predicament he found himself in, he briefly thought that the serial killer was pretty hot. Hotter than Ted Bundy. He would’ve found the guy hotter if he weren’t out for Eren’s blood. 

Then, as Mr. Grey-Eyes stared at him, there was a sudden glowing glint in those dead eyes, and his lips twitched upwards into a bloodthirsty smirk. 

_Colossal and Armoured Titans who art beyond the walls, please accept this humble man’s prayer and let him live to lose his virginity,_ Eren thought as sweat began pouring off him like a fountain. _This guy’s a serial killer. He’s giving me that serial killer look. He frickin’ looks like a serial killer. Criminal Minds should hire him to play the UnSub. Wait, what’s with that look in his eyes? Oh God, what if he’s a super-powered serial killer? He could be summoning a demon right now!_

“You…” Mr. Grey-Eyes spoke, dropping the corpse on the ground and moving towards Eren. 

Eren high-tailed it out of there. 

He returned to the rally in time to hear the end of Grisha’s speech, heart-hammering in his rib cage. Sighing in relief, Eren was glad to leave all thoughts of the scary man in the alley behind him. 

* * *

“…unfortunately that didn’t happen.” Eren said miserably.

“Um…” Detective Ackerman looked thoughtful. “Are you sure he was carrying a dead body?”

Eren nodded. “Positive! It was all deadweight!” 

Detective Ackerman bit his lip. “Could it be possible…that he was helping out someone who, let’s say, was incapable of walking by himself?”

Eren frowned. “You mean, like a drunk person?” The detective nodded. Eren shook his head. “No way. I mean, who gets wasted at three in the afternoon? On a _Monday_ too. It would have to to be a total loser. Not to mention Mr. Grey-Eyes dropped him like he was the trash of the earth he was glad to be rid of. Like he was worthless. So I think it was a corpse. I mean, who would treat a living, breathing person like that? I’d thinking even a serial killer wouldn’t be so careless with a living person!” 

Detective Ackerman was glaring at the boy with an expression that suggested the older man was mere inches away from slugging the shit out of him. Having been in many fights himself (though he held himself back since Grisha’s campaign began), Eren quickly recognized the look and held his tongue. The last thing he needed was the crap beaten out of him in a locked interview room by a corrupt cop. What’s got his panties all twisted up? It wasn’t like Eren insulted _him_ or anything. 

“So? What happened next?” 

“Right…well he started showing up at my job.”

* * *

“Earl Grey. No sugar or cream. _Eren._ ”

It wasn’t unusual for the occasional flirty customer to take advantage of the name tag that employees were required to wear at the cafe, but Eren thought something was a bit off when he heard that silky smooth voice. 

When he looked up to hand the customer his tea, he had the shock of his life. “Here you are sir —” was all he managed as his face turned paper white, twisting in horror. 

Mr. Grey-Eyes stood before him, still looking every bit the serial killer in slacks and a cozy green turtleneck. Standing with the counter between them, the height difference between them was more pronounced than ever — and the man used it to terrify the utmost fuck out of Eren. Mr. Grey-Eyes’ head was tilted up, so that he stared directly up into Eren’s eyes and perhaps — to the the boy’s horror — deep into his soul. His thin brows were furrowed, his dark eye bags contrasting sharply against his pale skin. His grey eyes were wide open, staring blankly, not unlike those of a dead fish. Yet somehow, his stare was also intense, holding Eren in place. Eren briefly thought of what he had learned in his fifth grade science class, about how spiders would inject their venom into their victims, paralyzing them as the spider wrapped them up in web instead of plastic wrap. He thought that he now had more empathy for the spider’s victims. 

_A venomous glare,_ Eren thought. _That’s this guy’s super power. It feels like he's searching my soul!_

“Eren…” He said in a low growl. Those dead fish eyes closed and opened three times, its stare never once deviating from deep within Eren’s soul. “Do you want to get din —”

“Please enjoy your drink!” Eren slammed the drink onto the counter. It took everything in him to not fling the cup of hot tea in Mr. Grey-Eyes’ face and run away squealing like a school girl avoiding boys with cooties. Instead, he calmed his breathing and hurried to the staff room, calling over his shoulder that he was going on break. 

When he peeked around the store half an hour later, he moaned in relief when he did not see Mr. Grey-Eyes anywhere. But the next day, he nearly had a heart attack when he heard a quiet “Hi Eren,” behind him. And like the dumb protagonist in every horror film, Eren slowly turned to face the monster in the low-budget slasher film that was currently his life. 

Mr. Grey-Eyes was looking up at him again, eyes once again doing that open-and-close thing before speaking. “Your skin…it looks very soft. Very nice.”

The observation hung between them like dense storm cloud labouring its way across the sky. Eren bit his lip and tried not to scream. Why did he bring up Eren’s skin? Why was he commenting on it? Could it be…that he thinks Eren’s skin was soft and therefore more _fun_ for him to cut into? That sick bastard, of course he would like to ruin victims with nice skin!

“That would be $3.45 for your tea sir.” Eren kept his voice stable and practically shoved the cup into his hand. 

But he was unable to retract his hand, as cold, pale fingers gripped his hand, caressing his skin. 

“It really is soft,” Mr. Grey-Eyes breathed, two odd splotches of red appearing on his cheeks. Was he angry? Then, as Eren trembled, he picked up his drink and walked out the door. Eren was still shuddering when his coworkers Connie and Sasha winked and wagged their eyebrows at him to ‘bag that hot stuff’. 

From then on, without fail, Mr. Grey-Eyes would drop by each morning during Eren’s shift. When Eren requested a shift change, he was dismayed to find, a week later, that Mr. Grey-Eyes too, had taken to coming to _Historia’s Latte_ in the afternoon. 

(Later he found out that the cocky bitch Ymir had been the one to tip him off, saying who was she to get between Mr. Killing Stalking and his one true love? God Eren hated her!)

The most disturbing part of his visits was (not that the visits themselves were anything short of nightmares), however were the casual little observations Mr. Grey-Eyes would make: “Your eyelashes are fucking long…like a doll’s,” he would say, looking pleased with his next victim’s appearance. 

He wished the pseudo-compliments were the end of it, but then came the first attempt on his life. 

On a regular day when Eren could be found skittish at his job, wary of a certain serial killer, said man stormed up to him with an arm behind his back, grey eyes livid. Eren was sure that behind his back was a knife, and he was to be gutted on the spot. Or kabob-ed, depending on how long the knife was. Maybe Eren-on-a-stick would be the new addition to _Historia’s Latte’s_ breakfast line. 

But the moment Mr. Grey-Eyes reached the counter, he whipped out a bouquet of fresh pink carnations, and whacked Eren in the face with it. 

“For you, shitty brat.” Mr. Grey-Eyes had muttered before stomping out of the store. 

The cafe was silent, then Eren’s coworkers whooped and clapped him on the back, while patrons ‘awwed’ and pasted saccharine smiles on their faces. And Eren found himself re-evaluating Mr. Grey-Eyes’ character. Did serial killers usually do things like this? Rather than wanting to _off_ him, the flowers seemed to suggest that Mr. Grey-Eyes wanted to _off_ him…in the more pleasurable way. Could that possibly be it?

“Hmmm, these are pretty,” Eren said, blush and smile breaking over his face as he leaned in to take a whiff. Those were the last words he spoke before his windpipe suddenly closed tighter than an un-lubed asshole. Eren fell to the ground, flowers forgotten as he wheezed and coughed, eyes bulging out of his skull as sweat fell profusely from his brow. 

He heard screams, someone’s frantic “Call 9-1-1!”, and his own thoughts chastising him for not paying enough attention to the important parts of _Criminal Minds_ (“Remember the episode where the UnSub sent his victim flowers?”). Just before he lost consciousness, he saw Mr. Grey-Eyes looking in on the scene from the cafe window. Eyes wide and intense, dark shadows casted over his face, looking as murderous as one can be. 

_A venomous glare,_ Eren thought as his muscles tightened. _He really is trying to kill me!_

* * *

“Let me get this straight. You’re saying,” Detective Ackerman punctuated his sentence harshly. “That Le— uh, this stalker dude tried to kill you with an asthma attack?”

“Exactly!” Eren exclaimed. “He stalked me and somehow found out that I have asthma, and then used the flowers to off me!” _Not in the pleasurable way,_ he mentally added. 

“But weren’t you the one who sniffed the flowers on your own volition?” Eren was mildly impressed; he didn’t think that someone like Kenny Ackerman’s vocabulary included three-syllable adult words like _volition._ “So why did you sniff’em, dumbass? You _do_ know that you have asthma, right?”

Eren felt his irritation growing. Okay, so maybe in the heat of the moment, between holding pretty flowers in hand and thinking that the hot man hanging around him was more interested in sucking the daylights out of his head downstairs than decapitating the one on his shoulders, Eren _may_ have forgotten about his aversion to flower pollen. 

“Are you blaming me?” He just about yelled. “I’m the victim here! I almost _died!_ ”

Detective Ackerman rolled his eyes. “Eh, that’s cuz you’re a stupid-ass kid.”

Eren stared at him in disbelief. “Are cops even allowed to talk like this? I thought you would be more dedicated to your jobs!”

The older man shrugged. “Contrary to those crime shows, I don’t eat, sleep, breath or shit cop.” He started groping around for his lost cigarette again. Eren really hoped that he wouldn’t put it back in his mouth. “So, that it?”

The college student laughed. “Oh, far from it. It only got worse.” 

* * *

Eren was glad that Mr. Grey-Eyes stopped showing up at _Historia’s Latte_ following the asthma incident. However, that was not to say that he was out of Eren’s life for good. Instead, he started showing up in random places, always seeming to cross paths with Eren _randomly._

_As if,_ Eren thought, _the murdering bastard probably planned it all!_

The first incident came when Eren was on the treadmill at the gym he frequented. He had been working up a good sweat when said sweat suddenly ran cold, and sent Eren flying off the treadmill. 

“Eren!” Mikasa was immediately by his side, helping him up. 

Mr. Grey-Eyes had just walked into the gym, heading for the weights section when he locked eyes with Eren. The two men stared at each other, height differences now swapped with the brunette sprawled out on the floor. 

“Eren.” The man breathed. “The flowers…about that —”

“Uh, don’t worry about that.” Eren said quickly, jumping to his feet and dragged Mikasa away. 

His adoptive sister stared the man down suspiciously as she was led away. “Eren, is that the prick that almost got you killed?”

“No,” he lied, not wanting to see a showdown between Karate Black Belt Mikasa and Ted Bundy the Second. Not when Eren could be collateral damage. “Now let’s go do those…ah, bench presses!” 

Halfway through his second set of presses, Mikasa said “Eren, that guy’s been ogling you for the past hour. Should I go poke his eyes out and sell them to a taxidermist?”

Mikasa was another person that Eren thought would make a good serial killer. Irene Wuornos the Second. 

Glancing over his shoulder, Eren saw with sinking spirits that it was (of course) none other than Mr. Grey-Eyes. In another instance where Eren’s life wasn’t being threatened, he would’ve been impressed (and quite turned on) by how the man’s sculpted biceps flexed each time he curled, or how his heated, _smouldering_ stare was directed at Eren. But in this case, since his adversary was strong enough to curl 60LB with one hand, it meant that he could probably choke Eren to death single-handedly. 

After four more run-ins with Mr. Grey-Eyes at the gym (all involving the man doing some sort of strenuous physical activity while staring at Eren), Eren called it quits at the gym, and ditched the treadmill for a good old fashioned run through the trail near his house. 

And then, came the second attempt on his life. 

A week into his newly established running route, Eren was halfway up in the woods when he stopped for a water break and hear rustling from the trees behind him. “Hello?” He called. 

And out stepped Mr. Grey-Eyes, holding in his hands, for some reason, an assortment of multicoloured mushrooms. Quiet woods. A single runner. A serial killer. Shrooms. Since when did his life become an episode of _Criminal Minds?_

“Eren,” the man breathed.

“Hi…” 

“You look…good.” He said shortly. There was a period of awkward silence before Mr. Grey-Eyes spoke again. “The flowers — _fuck_. I-I mean, I’m sor — shit, _shit_!” Eren took a step back when the expletives got more violent and Mr. Grey-Eyes started talking with his hands, wary that one of those hands would find its way around his throat. “Maybe I could…? You…have you…dinner?”

_Did he just say he wants to have me for dinner? Not in the sexual way?_ Eren’s face was aghast. _So he’s a cannibal now too? Was that his end game all along?_

Eren’s fight or flight instinct was triggered. Eren fucking Jaëger never ran from a fight, and he sure was going to fight tooth and nail to not end up on on Mr. Grey-Eyes’ dinner plate next to a mug of Earl Grey tea. No Eren-on-a-stick for this cannibal! 

In a flash, Eren grabbed the most vibrantly coloured mushrooms from the man (capped red head, not unlike that of a dick minus the white splotches) and shoved it into his mouth, chewing furiously as he glared at the older man and swallowed. Mr. Grey-Eyes’ mouth dropped as he stared at what must’ve seemed like Eren’s minute of madness, transfixed. His stupor allowed Eren to sprint away to safety. 

The shroom saved him from the digestive juices of a cannibal’s stomach, but he cursed its existence later in the day when during Grisha’s meet-and-greet, his stomach rumbled unpleasantly and he had to make a break for the toilet. Two hours later and seemingly no chance for the leakage from his anus stopping, Carla drove him to the hospital where he was hooked up to an IV for two days. 

* * *

“Stop, just _stop._ Hold your horses young man!” Detective Ackerman’s bowler hat was on the table while his hands pulled at his hair in a mix between frustration and outright amusement. “Just…why the fuck would you eat a poisonous mushroom?”

“Common sense!” Eren snapped. “If I poisoned myself, then the poison would be in my flesh, right? I’d be _venomous._ Then the cannibal wouldn’t eat me cuz otherwise he’ll also get diarrhea!” 

“What the fuck does common sense even mean to you, kid.” The detective rolled his eyes. “Did ya even bother to hear the guy out?”

“What? Did I want him to start reciting the ingredients he was going to marinate me in? Course not!” 

Detective Ackerman groaned and massaged his templed. “God I need a cigarette. I dropped my last one, still can’t find that little fucker. Kid, did it ever cross your mind that it sounded like he was tryna’ ask you out to dinner?”

“More like ask me to _be_ his dinner.” Eren said stubbornly. 

The detective sighed. “Well, is that it? I need to leave soon if I wanna make my poker game.”

“Actually…” Eren’s eyes darkened and his body shook. The older man blinked at how the youth went from a feisty shithead to a quivering child on the verge of a breakdown. “This is the main reason why I’m here today. Why I _need_ that restraining order.” The boy reached into his satchel and took out a plastic ziplock bag, placing it before the detective.

Inside was a scrap of paper. Written on the paper, in blood-red ink, were ten digits. 

“M-My friend Armin told me that I should preserve the evidence. So you guys can get fingerprints off it or something.” Eren said, trembling. “Mr. Grey-Eyes stopped by the cafe this morning and gave this to me. And everything became clear.” 

Detective Ackerman chuckled and whistled. “Damn right it should, kid. Otherwise you’d be the dumbest fuck to walk the earth.” Then the older man was shocked into silence as a fat tear dribbled down Eren’s cheek.

“He has the Shinigami Eyes!” Eren yelled before sniffling some more, trying to reign in his tears. 

“…What?”

Eren hiccuped. “Have you ever seen _Death Note_? He has the Shinigami Eyes, like Misa Amane. He can see my lifespan! He even wrote it out for me!” He jabbed a finger at the ten numbers. “He came by this morning, gave me the paper and a death glare and said in this ultra-freaky voice: ‘Tonight at seven.’ He must mean that my life will end tonight at seven!” 

Kenny Ackerman’s jaw dropped and a fly or two might of flown in, but he didn’t really care, given that Eren Jaëger was now on his knees, prostrating before him. “I pieced it together, Detective! He’s a stalking, serial killing, Shinigami Eyes-wielding cannibal! So please, Detective! Please get me a restraining order by seven tonight!” 

A moment of silence (only punctuated by Eren’s sobs) later, Kenny spoke. “You really are the dumbest fuck to walk this earth.”

“Hey!” Eren snarled, wiping away his tears. “I’m traumatized here, you could at least fake some sympathy!” 

Detective Ackerman shrugged. “I call it like I see it, kid.” 

Eren turned away, fuming. His face was an angry grimace as he plopped himself back into his chair. “Fuck this stupid stalker! He’s thrown my life totally out of whack! Fuck his mom, his dad, his cat, his dog. Fuck his uncle too!” 

Kenny winced. “No thanks, don’t swing that way.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” The detective said quickly, clearing his throat. “Er…I guess I’ll get the paperwork goin’ for that restraining order. Not sure how much good it’ll do if you think he’s dead set on killing ya.” He chuckled. 

Eren scoffed. “I just need you to tell him to back off and that he will go to jail if he comes near me again. For your information, the loin fruits of President-wannabes _are_ afforded the suits-with-guns service.” 

“Yuck, loin fruits.” Kenny did not want to hear that expression again. 

* * *

After Eren Jaëger left, Kenny let his head drop against the metal table with a nice resounding _thud!_

Petra poked her head in a minute later. “Tough case?” She asked sympathetically. 

Kenny rotated his head on the table towards her voice. “My brain’s been fried by the kid’s stupidity. Do ya think it’s karma for all those times I picked on that Reiss kid back in high school?”

Petra rolled her eyes. “How would I know about your high school days, old man? Anyways, I thought it would be good for you to take on this case since when I ran the photo of Eren’s stalker through the DMV records,” she held up a printed photograph of a driver’s license. “it was a damn good match for a Mr. Levi Ackerman of Trost.” She quirked a brow at him. “Isn’t this your nephew?” 

Kenny groaned against the table. “Shorty’s gonna kill me.” 

* * *

The first time Levi Ackerman met Eren Last-Name-Currently-Unknown, he was the sheep dog trying to keep the cattle in line. In other words, he was trying to keep his class of twenty kindergarten students from getting run over by cars as they crossed the street.

It was easier at the beginning of the school year when the brats pissed themselves the moment Levi put on his Scary-Teacher-Face. But after discovering that their teacher was actually nice, and that he wouldn’t actually eat them for dinner, Levi’s well-trained death glares and You’re-In-Trouble voice weren’t doing the trick anymore. Not to mention the brats didn’t mind Time-Outs or staying in for recess, because then they could annoy their beloved teacher more. 

Levi hated kids and messes and could really use a better paying job, but he supposed that the affection from the children kept him from filling out those transfer papers. He was touched by the kids’ fondness for him, but sometimes he wished that another person would feel that same fondness for him — namely, a certain brunette with the most amazing ocean-coloured eyes named Eren (Last-Name-Currently-Unknown). 

They were returning from a field trip to the local art museum when Isabel Magnolia and Farlan Church, the usual trouble makers, decided to run ahead — right onto the road — and when Levi called their names sharply, Izzy tripped over her feet and landed splat on the road just as the light turned red. Farlan had gotten to the other side, but as the incoming vehicle hit the brakes, Izzy was paralyzed like a deer in headlights. 

Levi was screaming, the tires screeching, and the children crying. Then, moving like the wind itself, a tall figure darted across the road, scooped up a terrified Izzy, and rolled away just in time as the car came. 

“Wow…that was close!” Levi hear Isabel’s saviour chuckle as he rushed over. 

“Isabel! Oi, you, are you okay?” He signed in relief as he saw Isabel bore no physical wounds. It seemed that her saviour bore the brunt of the impact. Turning to the man, Levi felt himself captivated by the youth’s good looks: his easy smile, his lanky yet well-toned body, his beautiful eyes. Not to mention the universal appeal of a guy who saves damsels in distress…

“You —” Levi felt his mouth open and close. He bit his lip. “Thank you.” He ended up saying. 

The man — the _boy,_ oh God he looked so much younger than Levi! — gave an effortless smile as he got up, wincing, and dusted off his clothes. 

“No worries, man. Kids are a handful, right?” He winked — actually _winked,_ Levi died a bit on the inside — and jogged away. 

It was a once in a lifetime encounter that occurred way too much in Levi’s romance novels, and never-ever in his actual life. He didn’t expect anything to come out of it — he was much too rational to linger on the image of the brat’s broad back as he ran, or let the image of ocean-green eyes remain tucked under his eyelids. He was simply glad, and much to his displeasure, stoically _giddy_ (in his own Levi-way) that he had such a run-in. 

So imagine his surprise when he finally agreed to go with Hange to the cafe where she insisted that gave her tastebuds orgasms, that he’d be greeted with the sight of the brat, eyes shimmering and crinkled as he flashed Levi a smile with his head cocked cutely, his baritone voice asking, “What can I get you, sir?” 

Levi stared up at him, then let his eyes fall downwards, tsk-ing that the counter covered his body just where that toned abdomen would meet sculpted thighs. Then his eyes lingered on the name tag pinned on his chest: _Eren._

Hange (as expected) did not accept his excuse — that the height difference and that Levi having to manually lift his head to meet Eren’s gaze was a much too strenuous activity for his body — and did all she could to engage Eren in conversation (while wagging her eyebrows at him suggestively before glancing to Levi) before a disgruntled Levi dragged her out of the store. 

“Just talk to him, Levi!” She cackled as they walked back to the school. Hange was the school nurse, whose specialty was extracting things from people’s bodies, like splinters from fingers, or bee stings out of angry red flesh. This ability of hers was also applicable elsewhere, demonstrated by how she seamlessly extracted the story of Levi and Eren’s meeting out of the secretive man (much to Levi’s chagrin). 

“You’ve got the perfect setting here for a romantic novel: the love interest saves the main character in a much too dramatic way, then they meet again at a _cafe_ of all places!” Hange sighed dreamily as she pressed a piece of gauze to Oluo’s bleeding tongue. Poor kid almost bit it off this time. “You _have_ to take advantage of this and document it! Oh gosh, yes please videotape your hanky-panky time!” She flared her nostrils, breathing heavily as she held Oluo’s bleeding tongue in a death grip. Poor kid. “Go now, Levi — sweep that kid off his feet and then _plow_ his ass. Or wait, are you the one getting plowed?”

“Shitty Glasses, let go before you rip it right out of his mouth,” Levi snapped, batting her hand away. He then sighed and looked away. “And don’t talk about _plowing_ in front of brats.” To Oluo, he added, “Plowing fields is serious adult work, kid. Don’t do it and don’t let your parents hear you talking about it.” 

“O-ay Misher Ackerrr-an!” Oluo said, tongue still held captive by Hange.

“And like hell would I take love advice from you again, Shitty Glasses.” Levi quipped, wincing at the memory of the last time he took it. He had been serenading the guy from below his balcony when he heard the explosive laughter behind him. There Kenny was, holding his sides, fat tears leaking from his eyes (and snot from his nostrils) as he listened to Levi’s voice cracking. Apparently Mrs. Johnson from next door had complained about a ‘panty-thief’ in the neighbourhood, and thought that the ‘god-awful singing’ was a ruse while the thief snuck in and called the police. And Kenny decided to let his nephew carry onto the second chorus of ‘Daisy Bell’ before announcing his presence. 

Shitty Glasses never bothered letting him know that he sounded worse than nails on a chalkboard singing. 

“So you’d take advice from someone else?” Hange asked. 

“Depends.” 

Hange looked thoughtful. “Have you…you and Kenny…”

“Have we what?”

“Like…” Hange looked as though she was swallowing a particularly sticky mouthful of rice. “had some ‘male-bonding time’?” When she saw the teacher stare at her as though she had grown another head and a tail, she elaborated. “Never had one of those ‘son, you’re now a man’ talks? Pretty sure he could point you in the right direction — ”

“No.” Levi’s voice was decidedly final. “Not happening.”

“Levi —”

“I said _no_ — ”

“But the guy goes on so many dates! Kenny, of all people!” Hange waved her arms and almost tore Oluo’s tongue out. “Kenny who wears a pair of socks for a week! He’s gotta have hex-level strategies!” 

Levi couldn’t dispute that: Kenny’s miles long resume of romantic conquests was only bested by his vast number of drunken episodes. How the shitty old man was able to land so many dates — _okay,_ Levi had to admit that Kenny had a height advantage and looked remarkably good if he showers and shaves. And has decent conversational skills. — was beyond him. But Kenny’s dates were all female, and Eren Last-Name-Currently-Unknown was as male as can be (his abs were so damn lickable). 

Hange rolled her eyes. “Shorty, the gender doesn’t matter. It is truth universally acknowledged, that one in possession of a dick or a vag will be in want of wooing.” Levi winced at her ad-libbed quoting. There goes another book that Shitty Glasses ruined for him. “Swallow your ego and get some tips from Kenny! It’ll be worth it when you and that Eren cutie are busy, uh, _plowing the fields._ ”

The subsequent conversation with Kenny later that night, was uncomfortable, as expected (Levi wanted to die). 

Levi sat through his uncle’s five minutes of shock, ten of denial — the whole five fucking stages of grief — then came twenty of solemn acceptance where his uncle finally came to terms with Levi’s request. Then came the half hour of gut-wrenching laughter that burst out of Kenny, as though Levi had broken a dam of sort in the man. 

“Ha, _ha,_ oh God sa-ve me! S-Shorty, I think I have a-a _twelve pack_ from laughing!” Kenny was doubled over in his chair, slamming his hand on the bar table. His glass of tequila stuttered twice from the impact, and Levi wagered that it would fall the next time. 

“So? Shitty old man.” He grumbled.

Kenny smirked at him. “You’re asking this shitty old man for love advice, huh.” 

Levi wanted to slap him. Maybe dismember him, case him in concrete and then wave _bye-bye Uncle Kenny_ as he lobbed him into some ocean. But even then, his dignity wouldn’t recover. 

The night ended with Kenny getting absolutely hammered, promising Levi that he would do whatever was needed to “Help him win his one true love.” Levi slugged him, then dragged his semi-conscious body out into the alley behind the bar. There, laden down with Kenny’s body weight and the pining of his unrequited love, he ran into Eren Last-Name-Currently-Unknown. 

“You…” Levi didn’t know what to say. _You’re beautiful,_ maybe. Or _you wanna ditch my uncle and come over to my place?_ Maybe _you, me, bed — right now._

But before he could decide, the boy had frozen into place, then defrosted, all in one second. Eren then bolted from the alleyway, leaving Levi with Kenny hanging off one shoulder. 

He supposed that maybe he should thank Kenny for that first night in the alleyway, for this time when he walked into _Historia’s Latte_ , Eren’s eyes immediate fixated on him, and widened considerably. _He remembered me,_ Levi pasted on an expression of nonchalance, and acted as though he didn’t want to squeal into his pillow at the knowledge. 

As he queued up, he remembered what Kenny had drilled into him. 

* * *

“Okay Shorty, you’re short.”

“Get on with it, Kenny.” Levi tapped his feet in impatience. “Don’t need you to tell me what a fucking mirror could.” 

Kenny rolled his eyes. “Levi, kid, we’re strategizing here. You’ve got to use your height to your advantage!”

“There’s an advantage to being a short-ass midget?” 

Kenny looked affronted. “What’s with your shitty self-esteem today?” _More like everyday,_ Levi quipped miserably. “Anyways, it’s obvious here that you’re gonna have to look up to this Eren kid. So do it like this.” 

Kenny kneeled so that he came up to Levi’s nose. Levi almost puked at the blushy-coy look that Kenny adopted as his eyeballs swivelled up to meet Levi’s gaze. Then he batted his eyelashes three times, and grinned a mouth of crooked teeth before pursing his lips together in a pout. 

Levi was unimpressed. “Kenny, I’m trying to make the kid fall for me. Not puke on me. That looks disgusting. _You_ look disgusting.” 

“But it works, Shorty! All the women I’ve been with do this, and I start unbuckling my belt.” Kenny winced as he got up. 

“I’m your _nephew._ Not your _niece._ ” 

Kenny shrugged. “Aesthetics-wise, you could use some whatchamacallit — ah, _feminine wiles_ to charm the kid. Given your height. Might work. Oh, and remember to compliment him! Do it every time so he remembers you; then you could consider sending him flowers or chocolate, some wooing bullshit like that. Then _bam!_ You’re plowing his ass.” Kenny grinned lecherously, and made a circle with one hand and pumped his other index finger through the loop. Slowly. _Sensually._ Seriously, what’s with the _plowing_ metaphors? “So, Levi, give it a try?” 

Levi grumbled, but then looked up to Kenny, mimicking the older man’s actions. What Kenny then saw, could only be an abomination that escaped from Stephen King’s basement. 

“So?” Levi asked after returning his expression to normal. 

Kenny managed to settle his heart rate as he forced a smile onto his face. “You’ll do great,” he said, giving the younger man a thumbs up. “Plow his ass.” 

* * *

And so, with his uncle’s encouragement, Levi looked up to Eren, batted his eyes thrice, and pursed his lips. Eren simply stared at him, seemingly unsure how to react.

“Eren,” he began, and remembered to bat his eyelashes again. This, he did slowly and purposefully. “Do you want to get din —”

“Please enjoy your drink!” Eren cried before making a break for the backroom.

Levi blinked, drink in hand, not knowing what had happened. _Ah,_ that’s right. He’s supposed to compliment the brat before being forward and all and asking to take him out to dinner. He shrugged as he took a sip of the tea. He’ll try again tomorrow. 

And so the next times he visited _Historia’s Latte,_ he went through eyelash-batting, lip-pouting routine, then racked his brain for a compliment. Eren had nice skin: creamy and sun-kissed like flowing caramel. 

“Your skin…it looks very soft. Very nice.” He said as Eren handed him his change. He felt the youth freeze at how awkward he sounded, and he wished that a hole would suddenly appear beneath him and wipe his existence off the face of the earth. Then, unable to help himself, he grabbed Eren’s retracting hand, and his heart pounded as the pads of his fingers brushed against that smooth skin. “It really is soft.” Eren could probably see the red on his cheeks; he felt his face heat unnaturally and he avoided eye-contact. But wow, his skin was really smooth. Maybe…his ass too, would be this smooth? Would be this…damn squeezable. 

_Dammit Levi. I repeat, do NOT pop a boner here!_

But his compliments seemed to be working, (persistence was key, Kenny had said, and Levi was _quite_ persistent when he changed his visits to match Eren’s afternoon shifts) and so when he threw the bouquet of flowers in his face, he felt pretty good about his chances. He watched from outside the window, as Eren’s cheeks tinged pink, the way he hunched into himself as his colleagues patted him on his back, the small, but radiant smile he wore on his lips as he leaned in to take a whiff — 

The brat just had to have an asthma attack. 

Levi watched in horror as Eren gasped for air and fell to the ground. Later, when he was rushed out of the cafe on a stretcher and loaded into the back of an ambulance, Levi remained rooted to his spot outside the windows, glaring — _willing_ the abandoned bouquet on the store floor to catch fire. 

He couldn’t show his face in _Historia’s Latte_ anymore. 

How was he to plow Eren’s ass now? 

* * *

Two weeks after the asthma attack (read as: Levi’s two weeks of Eren-withdrawal), Levi, disheartened and miserable, was considering returning to the cafe; not to order anything or have contact with any living creatures there (he wouldn’t survive the mortification), but just to _see_ Eren maybe once or twice.

In the midsts of his misery, he decided to head to the gym to distract himself and to keep himself in shape (for Eren, of course; in case he still had a chance) when his eyes met with a pair of beautiful aquamarines that he would have recognized anywhere…

The brat let out a yelp and fell off the treadmill. 

“Eren —” Levi’s feet quickly took him to the fallen Adonis, an apology forming on his lips when Eren shook his head, gave him an uneasy smile and sped away with a gloomy-looking dark-haired girl in toll (who the fuck wears a scarf to the gym?).

“He hates me.” He later moaned over his sixth can of beer. “He fucking hates me for almost getting him killed. I should c-cancel…my gym membership. He doesn’t want to see me.” He really should cancel that membership; he’d been telling himself that ever since Eren had fled from him like he had leprosy. Eren wanted a safe space to work out in, and he didn’t want to see Levi-the-guy-who-almost-got-him-killed there. He obviously would not want to see Levi, the creepy short guy who undressed him with his eyes, and savoured his tea while imagining that it was Eren’s essence he was lapping up. It hurt, the thought that Eren despised him so much. With a heavy heart, Levi realized that he would have to resolve himself to an Eren-less life, so that Eren could be safe and happy; free from his lecherous gaze. It hurt so damn much that his eyes were — _shit,_ his eyes were actually watering. He tried to convince himself that he had drunk too much, and pissing beer was his body’s way of regulating his fluids. 

He quickly dabbed them so that Kenny, who was on his twelfth can, wouldn’t notice. 

“Ya knowwwww, Shortay,” Kenny slurred, “ you should use this to your…ben-benefit. Go to the gym and showwww off for him!” He slapped Levi’s biceps. “Showww him how _rock hard_ you are!” He once again made a fucking gesture with his hands, albeit, his drunken fingers kept missing the hole. “Plow his ass!”

And so, Levi, more optimistic than he had ever been in his 34 miserable years of life, repeated a mantra of ‘Eren doesn’t hate me, I still have a chance, plow his ass, Ackerman’ under his breath, and returned to the gym. Taking Kenny’s advice, he made note of whenever Eren and Scarf Girl (was that his girlfriend?) came to the gym, and planned his own schedule likewise. He always made sure to situate himself right where Eren could see him, flexing as hard as he could, hoping that his stare could convey the message of: _Hey Eren, sorry ‘bout the flowers. Think we can get dinner?_

And thus he found himself disheartened when Eren stopped coming to the gym altogether. Scarf Girl, on the other hand, still came regularly, making sure to glare in Levi’s direction each time their paths crossed. 

“He’s avoiding me, Shitty Glasses.” He moped as he plucked another mushroom, tossing it into Mike’s basket. “It’s all your fucking fault. Kenny should _never_ give love advice. And why the fuck are we picking mushrooms in the middle of nowhere again?” 

Hange wagged a bright red mushroom in his face, looking cross. “The advice isn’t bad, Shorty! You’ve just got bad luck. And these babies,” a lecherous grin appeared on her face as Mike nodded approvingly, “are for Mike’s fifth period biology class! He _finally_ let me sub for him! Oh, the kiddies are gonna have fun!” 

Levi grabbed the mushroom from her. “More than one kid’s gonna end up high, poisoned, or dead if you’re teaching.” He wandered off deeper into the woods, his feet taking him off the path that he, Hange and Mike were on. Then, as he approached another path, he heard a familiar voice call out, “Hello?”

He burst out of the foliage. “Eren…” he breathed. 

The kid turned pale, and Levi squirmed in self-hatred: clearly Eren wanted nothing to do with him, with the way he instinctively stepped back and eyed Levi as though expecting the shorter man to whip out a machete. Or maybe, in their case, another bouquet of flowers. 

“Hi…” the youth finally said. 

“You look…good.” Eren really did look good out here in nature: somehow the various shades of green foliage made Eren’s unique sea-green eyes stand out even more, like glistening jewels. His tall, toned body was wrapped in a tank that showed just the right amount of smooth, clear skin, and his tiny jogging shorts offered Levi nosebleed material with each step he took. The kid looked like a fucking dryad. 

Eren did not answer his compliment, and Levi felt the sudden need to clear the air between them. “The flowers — _fuck_. I-I mean, I’m sor — shit, _shit_!” He waved his hands about, as though the right words were in the air for him to grasp. “Maybe I could…? You…have you…dinner?” _Fuck,_ why does he keep stuttering like that? 

He did not expect Eren’s gorgeous eyes to grow inhumanly wide, full of fear. He also did not expect Eren to suddenly grab the red mushroom from his hands and stuff it into his mouth. Once he was finished chewing and swallowing, he shot Levi a victorious look before speeding off down the path, leaving the shorter man in a state of shock, surrounded by the mushrooms that he dropped. 

Hange and Mike found him an hour later, squatting amongst his shroom minions, idly doodling hearts on the muddy ground. 

“Well, this is quite out of character for you.” Hange said as she pushed up her glasses. She peered down on her friend with all the interest of a mycologist for a rare specie of fungi. “Are you sick? Did you breathe in any spores?”

“Probably fucking did,” Levi grumbled — how else could he explain his falling for a man who was turning out to quite possibly be, a huge idiot? 

Mike knelt down to his face and gave a long sniff. Satisfied, he turned gave the bespectacled woman a meaningful nod. 

“As I suspected,” Hange made her diagnosis, “love sickness.”

* * *

In the end, Levi decided to just come clean about it to Eren. The worst the kid do was reject him, right? Certainly not sending him spiralling in to a pitiful limbo of alcoholic tears?

He showered twice that day, shaved his face, and there even was a botched attempt to cover up his dark circles with with Hange’s concealer. He dressed in a pair of jeans that gave his rear that extra lift, and donned a simple black button-up. Before heading out the door, he tore off a scrap of paper and fished around for a pen (red, of course, since he was a teacher and all markings were done in red) and wrote down his number. When he entered _Historia’s Latte,_ he tried to ignore the treble in his step, the seizing of his throat, and the snort that Eren’s tall bitchy freckled co-worker gave, which earned her a jab to the ribs from her small blonde companion. 

“Oh _Erennnnnnn!”_ Bitchy Freckles cackled loudly. The boy behind the counter paled immediately. 

Rehearsed phrases queued in his voice box as Levi approached and presses the slip of paper onto the counter. “Eren,” he managed to say before the nice rehearsed lines he had planned fumbled and tumbled down his esophagus as excess air, and no flowery language was vocalized. 

“Tonight at seven, brat.” Was all he managed, and face flushed red, he quickly left the shop. He’s played all his cards and now it was Eren’s turn to make a move: Levi was going to show up at seven when Eren’s shift ended, and if there was no chestnut-haired Adonis waiting waiting for him, well, let’s just say that he would take a leaf out of Uncle Kenny’s book and find comfort in the old bottle. 

But he did not expect Kenny, being the wildcard that he always was, to show up at his door at five, and shove a restraining order in his face. 

“…so ya see, Shorty, ya can’t go within fifty feet of Eren Jaeger or I’ll have to arrest you and get a nice print-out of your mugshot for our family album this year. Effective in like, twenty-four hours.”

“You’re fucking kidding me. He really is an idiot.” Levi murmured as he resisted the urge to rip up the damned sheet of paper. “He’s an idiot. I’m fucking _head over ass_ for an idiot. Is this even for real?” He jabbed a finger at the citation, reading that the Jaeger kid was concerned about him being a ‘serial killer with supernatural powers’ and ‘having the shinigami eyes’. “Kenny, you’re not fucking around with me, are you? Fuck, this is what I get for going to you for love advice!”

Levi rubbed at his throbbing temples as he collapsed into a pitiful heap at the kitchen table. Kenny patted his back sympathetically, face pinched as though he was (capable of) thinking hard. 

“Your date’s at seven, right?”

Levi scowled. “It’s obviously not happening if I’m gonna get fucking shot at for trying to breathe the same air as him.” 

“It’s effective in twenty-four hours, Shorty, not at seven. How ‘bout you show the kid a good time tonight, and seduce him into dropping the RO?” 

“How about _not._ ” In his mind, Levi had already begun planning out an Eren-less night involving a six-pack, Netflix, and half a gallon of ice-cream and tissues. 

But the older man was relentless as he pulled his nephew onto his feet, giving a clap on his shoulders that almost had the shorter buckling at the knees. 

“Leave it all to Uncle Kenny, Shorty. I gotta plan to get you yer boy. Break out your wallet and let’s go get some last minute plannin’ done! By the end of the night, you’ll be plowing his ass.” Kenny chuckled, eyes gleaming. “Guaranteed, or your money back.” 

Levi should have known not to go to Uncle Kenny for love advice, but desperate times calls for desperate measures. He was still worried though: out of all the times he’s ever bailed his uncle out or lent him rent, he’s never gotten his money back. 

If his wallet was going to be significantly lighter, he hoped that after seven, Eren would be there to fill that void. 

**Author's Note:**

> I really should be finishing Imprévu right now. Apologies to anyone still following the story -- school really kicked my ass this semester and I hope I can go back to regular updates in the new year. I definitely have not dropped the story, and will continue it!


End file.
